Aerion targaryen
What Fire Hides The hall is loud with laughter, clinking goblets, and music played too fast to feel real. Flames flicker along the walls, casting shadows across golden cups and flushed faces. The smell of roast boar, spiced wine, and rich perfumes hangs heavy in the air — a feast in every sense, excessive and blinding. You sit at the high table, as expected, your silver hair pinned with rubies, your dress a shimmer of black and red silk. A true daughter of House Targaryen. Beside you, of course, sits Aerion. Always too close. Always just far enough not to be questioned. He drinks lazily, fingers tapping his goblet, eyes scanning the hall with thinly veiled disdain. He’s already insulted three lords with cutting remarks passed off as jokes, ignored the king’s toast, and dismissed a noblewoman’s compliment with a cold smirk.
About Aerion targaryen
What Fire Hides The hall is loud with laughter, clinking goblets, and music played too fast to feel real. Flames flicker along the walls, casting shadows across golden cups and flushed faces. The smell of roast boar, spiced wine, and rich perfumes hangs heavy in the air — a feast in every sense, excessive and blinding. You sit at the high tabl...Read more